Enlightenment
by lucia marin
Summary: A moment of truth in a diner late at night between two people......and all the things that need to be said, even after it's too late. Because it might not be. Literati fic, Ssn. 3


Hey, back with another ficlet. Hope you like it, short Literati.

Disclaimer; all mine mine. except what isn't.

anyone wanting to publish this on their website, go ahead, but give my credit.

luce

As she came towards him in the muted stillness of evening, he knew she had won already.

She made her away between the diner tables, through a forest of upturned chair legs. She flashed between them quietly like a ghost.

He continued working, steeling himself for the words he didn't know would come yet.

She stood there nervously, desperately. A half attempt at a smile and a glance.

"A little late for waffles," he finally began, deciding to help her.

Jess heard her audible drawn breath. She seemed to relax slightly.

"It wasn't for waffles I came," she said frankly, surprising him.

"Oh?" he replied, after a pause, eyebrow raised. Casually, he placed clean glasses in stacks and fought her with all his might. He already felt a twinge of the strange, muted feeling that had possessed him for so long; it frightened him to think that he might so easily succumb again.

A conversation in the cold, in a phone booth, on a night long ago in the city.

To hear the warmth of her voice again, the childish, light notes.

He had suddenly felt a wave of relief, of warm sadness wash over him at the tone.

That's when he'd known he had been conquered.

Things were different now, he reminded himself. This is the way she chose, we both chose. It's too late.

"Yeah," she said, a little helplessly. He decided not to help anymore.

"I haven't seen......I mean, we haven't talked in a long time. Are.......we......still talking? To each other?" she nervously burst out, confused by her own words. She paled, putting her hand to her face for a moment in mute embarrassment, then spun on one heel and proceeded to make a dash for the door.

"Rory," he suddenly called out, numb with shock at his own reaction. 

He was furious at himself for stopping her. It would have been easier to let her go.

But he'd already given in and he knew it.

She slowly turned around, and he motioned her forward with his hand, a slight smile on his face.

"How was Washington?" he said softly, and watched her face sag with grateful relief, and then a smile rise to the surface slowly like sunrise in the morning.

She came back, climbing atop one of the barstools.

Her face was still pensive, a little upset.

"Jess, I'm really sorry. I'm sorrier than you maybe understand," she said, fidgeting a little, but her tone was genuine and sad, and for a second a sick flash of hope flew through him.

"For what?" he replied casually, deciding to make this worthwhile.

Rory's mouth set in a thin line.

"You know what," she responded, a little accusingly. She crossed her arms and looked away.

"Well, as long as you regret it, everything's ok, right?" he smiled a little bitterly.

Her answer stunned him.

"I didn't say anything about regret. I simply apologized. You don't have to accept."

Her mouth quivered for a second, then set again. She stared at the countertop.

Jess leaned forward on his elbows.

"It's alright," he said, masking any emotion that might have betrayed him.

Back to careless casual pretense.

He stacked ketchup bottles to drain.

"So, how've you been keeping busy?" she began, her tone resolved to make this work.

"She's nicer than she looks, don't knock her," he rolled his eyes, knowing what the meaning of her question was.

"I didn't say she wasn't," she said defensively, a tiny smile on her face. She knew he knew her too well.

"She works at the car shop," Jess continued. "She's right for me," he mentioned, watching her reaction eagle eyed.

The corners of her mouth drooped a tiny bit, something she hid instantly. Her smile was a little fixed.

"How so?" she delved, politely curious.

"Her parents aren't around a lot. She lives with her mom, who works in Hartford till eight each night. We spend a lot of quality time together," he grinned a little, thinking of that soft spot in the middle of her couch.

She seemed to be thinking for a second.

"Well, good luck with that," she said after a little bit, seemingly at loss for other words.

He nodded and continue wiping.

"Read anything good while I was gone?" she appealed, and he remembered with a sharp stab the rush of emotion centered around her only a month and a half ago.

He tried to bury it again.

"1984, Orwell. Political nut. English socialism and communism and every theory known to man in one chapter. Do you think the world will ever come to a state where social hierarchy is not needed?"

"My poor grandparents would not survive."

This put a grin on his face, remembering the conversations they'd had about the elder Gilmores.

"How about you?"

"Siddhartha. I was enlightened for one day but Paris spoiled it when she wanted to go shopping."

"Definitely not the way of the Samana." he frowned playfully.

"Not even close. Besides, I'd have to give up eating. Not humanly possible."

"You must reach within your inner Self."

"I must dwell within my non-self." she repeated, trance like.

"Then you will reach Nirvana,"

"Or you can learn to walk on water," she grinned, remembering.

"Useful for the next time someone wants to push me into the lake," he replied dourly, smiling to himself. He felt a pang of pain at the separation between them. This was what it should be like, he thought. Sharply, he banged the drained ketchup bottles into a case in quick, efficient movements. She noticed the slight strain of his features.

There was an awkward silence for what seemed like minutes.

"This is different," she commented quietly, so low he almost didn't catch it. The words built inside him to a slow boil; he felt the heat of pain and anger combined with longing coming up in his throat. There was a strange, suffocating feeling between them. His eyes flashed darkly.

"How did you expect it to be?" he suddenly said, calmly. She looked up, surprised at his tone.

"Uh, that's not what..." she said, a little nervously.

"What do you want from me, Rory," he asked, suddenly defeated. He felt tired. "Did you want to come back home and find me still here waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Jess, that's not what I meant!" she said queerly, pale. Then tension began building to an exploding point, and she seemed to be drawing back from each word.

"How's Dean?"

"Stop!"

"Stop what? Trying to get a direct answer out of you? For fuckin' Chrissake, Rory Gilmore, what do you want from me?"

She slid down from the barstool abruptly.

"This is what it's all about, isn't it," she quavered.

"I have a girlfriend. You have a boyfriend. There's got to be a clear understanding. What do you want from me," he said calmly, his heart in his teeth.

Her answer sent the glass walls of silence and misunderstanding shattering into a million pieces around them, as their blood froze in their veins.

"Everything I can't ever have!" she cried out, voice strangled, and stood there stunned at her own outburst.

They were silent and still.

She began backing up towards the door, eyes frozen wide in shock, pinned to his.

She turned to run; he unfroze, and came to his senses.

He caught her right before the door.

She struggled against him for a second, tears of humiliation forming in the corner of her eyes, before he kissed her, and then all was lost.

She kissed back hard, to hurt him, and he accepted the unrelenting brutality of her steel fingers, her lips, her damp, flushed cheeks, her humble, defeated eyes.

"No!" she said weakly, turning her head, letting his lips feverishly travel over her neck, her jaw, her eyes. 

She grasped his jaw in her small hands and pressed her warm mouth to his with a sweet, fierce intensity that left his body slow and weak and relenting.

"Don't run away again," he commanded her, grasping her wrists. They breathed hard.

She was almost frantic.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," she half sobbed, and he felt the hot stab of pain like a knife through his stomach.

"Don't do this to me," he whispered fiercely, pale.

Her face crumbled. She put her hands to it and slowly backed away, slumping against the blinds on the door.

They stood there for what seemed an eternity.

She took her hands off her face and stood up, eyes still closed.

She kept them fiercely shut, and took one step towards him.

He stood there, feeling a dizzying sensation flowing through him as she stepped towards him, and he caught her in his arms and brought her close to him.

He held her delicately, almost as if she were breakable, crushing her close.

"You're safe now, you can open your eyes," he smiled weakly, and she did. All resistance melted out of her.

"Please forgive me?" Rory said, and she knew he already had.

They stood there, holding tight for another minute.

"What now?" she asked, almost sadly.

"Until we resolve all else, this is between us," he decided, feeling her relief. 

"Thank you."

He stroked her hair softly.

"You'd better go, it's late," he said, letting her go. "I'll be here for as long as it takes."

"I won't take too long," she smiled through her still damp eyes.

She slipped through the doors, leaving him feeling empty suddenly.

He returned to the counter. The clock struck eleven.

He watched her hurrying down the street, melting into the twinkling darkness.

thanks for reading, hope you liked it :-}


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